


Fetch

by MissNaya



Category: DCU
Genre: Begging, Biting, Blood Drinking, Crying, Dry Humping, Fear, Fivesome - M/M/M/M/M, Grinding, Guilt, Guro, M/M, Master/Pet, Monsters, Painful Sex, Prostate Milking, Rimming, Soft Insertion, Tongues, vore Robins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 13:04:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12109323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissNaya/pseuds/MissNaya
Summary: Jason meets the Robins owned by The Batman Who Laughs. Turns out, they want to play.





	Fetch

**Author's Note:**

> **please read all tags before continuing!** seriously, you don't want to just wander into this fic blind!
> 
> underage warning because, even though the vore Robins are technically ages-old manifestations of an evil god, they still look like, well, Robin. also, there's no tag for "dubious xenophilia/bestiality where a guy gets fucked by human-looking things that act like weird, rabid animals," so there's that, too.
> 
> from a prompt on [my tumblr:](https://dicktofen.tumblr.com/)
> 
> _I'm on bended knee, begging you to write about the vore robins trying to fuck Jason. Just pinning him down and using him. Making him feel embarrassed and degraded by a bunch of half pint pipsqueaks. It would be practically cathartic._
> 
> well, this is... something like that! enjoy!

They look familiar; maybe that's what stops Jason dead in his tracks. Not just the bloostained little Robin costumes, the ones from his and Dick's time, before the era of pants and cloaks, though they're a blast from the past in and of themselves. But the hair, the structure of their faces, their stature, it all paints a picture not unlike a distant memory.

And then he's on his back, not able to see much of anything but yellow, green, and _so_ much red.

The Robins screech like something right out of Hell, with voices that layer and echo in a way no human could possibly match. The only shot Jason manages to fire off sails past them into the distance before impossibly sharp claws drag the guns out of his hands. All the while, they chitter and laugh and say, “ _Crow, crow, crow_ ” in a pitch that makes the hairs on his body stand on end.

He fights with all his strength, but the Robins are strong despite their size, and they have the advantage in numbers. (Jason doesn't want to admit it, but he's sluggish, still partway frozen from the chill he felt when he first laid eyes on them.) He was just supposed to be on a recon mission to help the others find a way to reverse the damage done to their city, but this, _this..._ To say he hadn't expected it would be an understatement.

The claws — claws and _teeth_ — tear through his armor with ease, leaving wet, bloody gashes behind with every swipe. He hears more than sees them fumble around with his helmet until they finally find the button to release it, and then he truly feels vulnerable, clothes hanging off in shreds and face exposed. If they wanted to, they could go for the throat, maybe even bash his head in until it caves against the concrete underneath him, but, to his surprise, they don't. One Robin cups his face, long nails digging into the soft skin below his jaw, and tilts his head up, and he figures they're going to make him watch while they rip out his guts with their bare hands.

But then another one licks a trail up his cock, and he realizes the reality is about to get much worse.

“No,” he says immediately, arching his back and throwing his arms out to try and shove the Robins off of him. He twists and he flails and he begs, “No, _no,_ ” but one catches him by the wrist and starts nibbling on his fingers, and the other traps his arm between its legs and begins grinding down against it.

“ _Crow,_ ” they say, and underneath all the reverb and the coiling, growling _wrongness,_ he realizes they sound far too much like he did when he wore that costume. They never say a word more, but he feels like they're mocking him with each “ _crow, crow, crow._ ”

They move in an almost animalistic way, like there's no forethought, no decisions to be made, only instinct. With all Jason's thrashing, they have to constantly move, and whenever two or more end up too close to each other, there's snarling and the snapping of teeth until one Robin reigns supreme, grinding down against whichever spot he's decided to claim. They rut against his face and his stomach and his legs, rough scales on their shorts like sandpaper on his skin, but it seems like there's always at least one between his knees, lapping at his cock.

He wants to be sick. He doesn't want to see these nightmarish mirror images of his former identity — of _himself_ — treating him like a bitch in heat. He's not sure if he's more disgusted because they're young or covered in gore or sporting those constant Joker-like grins, but it gathers his stomach up in knots, and he feels acid churn at the back of his throat. A way out. He needs a way out of this. He turns his head from side to side, peering around for anything he can use as a weapon, but—

There, in the shadows, a tall and imposing silhouette he'd know anywhere. “Bru—” starts on the tip of his tongue, but then the shadow grins, and the name dies in his throat. Before he can get a better look, a pale thigh settles into his line of vision, and he finds his head trapped between a Robin's legs.

“Crow,” the thing says, grinning down at him. Upside-down, the grin looks like a snarl. “Crow, _crow,_ ” it goes on, bending forward to drag its teeth over the flat of his stomach.

Over sweat and blood, Jason can smell something muskier, but he doesn't admit to himself what it is until the Robin yanks down its shorts and lets its hard, leaking cock rest on his face. “Nhahh, _no_ —“ he tries to say, but one of them pushes up his thigh and runs a slimy tongue over his hole, and when it pushes inside ( _too big, too long_ ), he finds himself unable to speak.

Not that it matters. The Robin on his face thrusts into his mouth, and it's a harsh angle, one that catches the skin against Jason's teeth, but it doesn't seem to mind. If anything, that energizes it more, and it starts humping away, too small to even choke him properly, but filling Jason's mouth up all the same.

Where? Where are the other two? There's so much going on, so much pleasure and pain and attempts not to drown in his own spit, and Jason doesn't even feel like a real person grounded in reality anymore, blinded and covered by limbs that are all the same size and shape. It takes him a minute to realize another Robin is rutting into his half-closed palm, and even then, he can't tell if the wetness it drags back and forth across his wrist is precum or blood or something else entirely. The fourth makes itself known when it battles with the one between his legs, and the two have a brief snapping match before one of them nicks one of his balls between their teeth.

Jason _howls,_ arching away from the pain and gagging himself on the first one's cock. For a moment, the world is a blur of kicking and shoving, trying desperately to free himself, but the Robins are insistent, and just take the blows before leaning down to lave their tongues over him again. His flagging erection sails back up to full hardness in record time, and he hates himself.

One of them settles on his chest, face-to-face with the one on his head, and starts grinding its bare dick between his pectorals. He hears them cackle at each other like they're having some sort of discussion, or maybe they just like the way he looks, disheveled and wet with blood, drool, and tears. He hears a few more inquisitive “ _crow_ ”s before someone starts poking at his cock like they don't know what it is. The thought that this is all some game, some _experiment_ to them, settles so heavily in Jason's heart that he groans out a muffled scream.

The one on his chest must feel it, because it starts giggling and bouncing more insistently, while the one on his face just grabs his chin until it bleeds, holding him in place. Between his legs, two fingers push in, claws slicing his insides, and when he screams again, cum splatters over his neck, thicker and warmer than the blood already there.

More giggling, this time from between his legs, and he realizes — no, he's known all along — that his pain only makes them more giddy. He wants to stop, to lie still and hope they get bored and wander off, but everything hurts and he can barely breathe, and his body's bound to move with or without his permission. His hips jerk with every thrust of the Robin's fingers, moving against them rather than with them. Blood that feels impossibly hot puddles beneath his hips and thighs, and he wonders if this might be where it ends: Jason Todd, back from the grave, only to be fucked to death by his own demented lookalikes. Nothing he'd want on his gravestone.

He isn't aware of the pressure on his abdomen until it disappears; the spent Robin must have been lying on top of him, taking up too much space for one of the others, because after a short scuffle, he hears one retreat into the darkness while the other settles down just above his cock.

“Mnuh,” he begs, mouth still occupied. His jaw aches so much that he doubts he'd be able to speak even if it wasn't. “P'se. Pluh—”

“Crow,” the Robin answers, grinding itself down against his long-since-softened cock. Sounding more and more aggravated every second, it almost whines, “ _Cro-w,_ crow, _crow!_ ”

He can't. There's no way he can do what the thing wants, not when it feels like the other Robin is trying to claw his flesh out from the inside. Despite himself, he sobs, first once, then again and again, but all it seems to do is excite the one on his face even more. He can't even lift his arms up to try and stop them; what good would it do at this point, with his head swimming from blood loss and a bone-deep ache across his entire body?

Almost like a testament to his own damnable determination, the Robin on his stomach lifts up his cock and pinches it between its fingers, trying to force it inside of itself anyway. It takes a few tries that Jason barely feels with everything else going on, but it works, and the thing starts moving, gurgling out little half-laughs all the while.

Blessedly, the fingers in his ass still, as if that Robin is intrigued by the way his insides feel while his companion rides him. Jason doesn't think it's possible to feel anything but pain at this point, but with the pads of the Robin's fingers facing upward, it finds his prostate.

There's no mind-shattering feeling of bliss, no sudden hardness or burst of pleasure that drowns out the pain. It's more of a pressure than anything, like the feeling of having to piss, a feeling that gets worse every time the Robin riding him grinds its hips down against his pelvis. It builds and builds until it spills over, but doesn't go away even when something wet leaks from the tip of his cock. Not piss; it's thicker, slimier, but thinner than cum even still. _Prostate fluid,_ his mind supplies him, overly-clinical as if detaching himself from his body will make the situation any better.

The fluid fills up the Robin and drips out over his balls, and one or both of them laugh. The fingers in his ass quirk upward, a bit too firmly to feel good, but it makes him leak more, which all of the Robins seem to enjoy. God, he feels like an object, a toy, more dehumanized than ever before in either of his lives. Just as another sob forces itself out of his throat, the other Robin pulls out of his mouth at long last. He doesn't even remember to breathe before he hears the ripping of cloth and then finds his face buried between the Robin's cheeks.

It “ _crow_ ”s impatiently, like it's jealous of whatever its companion is doing to his ass, and Jason wants to yell at it to go join its brothers away from him if it wants it so bad. But his jaw is open wide enough for the Robin to reach in and pull his tongue out, and Jason is forced to keep it that way lest it be ripped off at the root next time. He lets the Robin rub its hole over his tongue, grunting and mewling and giggling, long strands of precum dripping onto his chin. He doesn't remember consciously deciding to do it, but after a moment, he shoves his tongue as far into the Robin's hole as it'll go. That one little moment of action instead of _re_ action makes him sick to his stomach, but he just wants all this to end. He'll do anything to speed it up, if only a little bit.

He's not sure when his cock hardens, but eventually, he becomes fully aware of the Robin on top of him bouncing up and down on it with unbridled glee. The other one licks where their bodies meet, greedily lapping up the sticky mess there, tongue so long that it passes over his balls at the same time.

Jason hates it, and hates this, and hates himself, and moans.

The crowing rises to a fever pitch. The one on his face comes, he thinks, but it keeps riding him anyway, its legs trembling on either side of his head. The fingers disappear from his ass, and the one riding him gets shoved forward seconds before another cock squeezes its way in beside Jason's own. They're all a squirming, shaking, screaming mess, including Jason himself, and by the very end, he finds his own hips rising up to meet each thrust, grabbing at the hips above his head to keep that Robin in place while he tongue-fucks its hole.

_Terrible._ An absolute, unforgivable disgrace.

But he's so _close,_ and the pleasure is all that's keeping him from dwelling on the pain, and he needs to muffle himself so the whole world doesn't hear him moaning. It's the guilt, he thinks, along with disgust, that finally propels him to orgasm.

From there, he can't tell in which order the others finish and get off of him. It's all he can do to try and breathe. But soon, there's nothing but the cooling dampness of too many fluids on his body, and a pain in what he's sure is a back bruised so badly he'll hardly look human when he rolls over.

Not that he looks much like one now.

He vaguely registers the presence of the Robins' mouths on him — all four this time — licking off the blood and gnawing on his skin. That is, until a deep, familiar voice cuts through the silence.

“ _Bar._ ”

They all scamper away at once, and it's weird enough that Jason gathers up enough strength to lift his head. There, mere yards away, is that Batman-but-not shape, with its stark-white grin piercing through the darkness.

“Good boys,” the Batman-thing says, stalking forward, jingling with each step. “Did you have fun? Did you eat well? Time to come home with daddy...”

One by one, it goes up to the Robins, and Jason realizes what the jingling is: chains, with collars fastened at the ends to form leashes. Not-Batman locks up each of the Robins in turn, all of them staring up at him like dogs in awe of their owner. When it finishes, it turns its grin on Jason.

Holding up one last collar.

“...We have to start training your new brother.”

Jason screams.

 

**Author's Note:**

> actually by "enjoy" I meant "feel slimy and weird and maybe develop an awkward boner or two," probably, idk about you but that sounds kinda like my experience writing this
> 
> it was fun, though!


End file.
